Chapter 1: Viral Confessions and Stepbrother Heat

My hand rested on his wrist. I tried to sound all chill, but my brain was already short-circuiting. Heartbeat’s racing—yeah, you’re in trouble. Mine.

The air between us was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle. Seriously, you could cut it with a knife. My palm pressed against his skin, and I could feel the wild, erratic thump under my fingertips. I tried to keep my voice casual, but it shook—like I was bluffing my way through a poker game. And I was definitely about to lose.

The school bad boy clenched his jaw. "Try again."

He shot me that look—icy blue eyes, daring me to keep going. The kind of look that could make anyone else back down, but not me. Not this time. My heart did a double take, but I kept my cool, at least on the outside.

"Oh, did I mess up?" I pretended to think, tapping my chin with exaggerated innocence. "You’re right. I did. It’s just stage fright."

I rolled my eyes and grinned, letting the teasing hang in the air. The crowd around us started to snicker, the tension breaking like a wave crashing on the shore.

Great, now I was officially the punchline. The sound was deafening, echoing down the hallway. Someone in the back even whistled. I felt my cheeks burn, but I kept my chin up, refusing to let Mason see me flinch.

He grabbed my collar. "You serious?"

His grip was rough, but not painful—more like he was trying to anchor himself. I stared up at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke, but he just looked pissed. My breath caught, and for a second, I wondered if I’d pushed him too far.

Panicked, he clapped a hand over my mouth, looking guilty as hell.

His hand was warm, calloused from years of basketball and fights behind the gym. He glanced around, eyes darting, as if hoping no one had seen. Too late. The whole hallway was eating it up, phones out, recording every second.

When I woke up, I was blowing up online. My brain went straight to dread—yep, this was going to be a nightmare.

My phone buzzed nonstop, the screen lighting up with notifications. I groaned, rolling over and burying my face in my pillow, but the relentless pinging wouldn’t stop. I already knew—this was going to be bad.

Clips of me hanging onto the school bad boy, refusing to let go, were all over the campus confession page.

There I was, front and center, my arms wrapped around Mason Reed like he was a life raft and I was drowning. The comments were brutal, but I couldn’t look away. My stomach twisted with every new post.

I was sitting on Mason Reed’s lap, one arm around his neck, the other wandering everywhere, squirming and rambling, "Lemme touch, just a little, what’s wrong with touching?"

I watched, mortified, as my drunk self nuzzled into him, giggling like an idiot. I looked ridiculous, but the worst part was how happy I seemed—like I belonged there. My hand, traitorous as ever, didn’t know when to quit.

I really did get a few good squeezes in. Ugh, part of me wanted to die, but another part was—okay, a little proud. I mean, at least I finally did something gutsy for once.

Someone had zoomed in on my hand, circling it in red with a caption: "Girl’s got guts." I wanted to crawl under my bed and never come out. Still, a tiny part of me was proud—I’d always been too scared to do anything bold.

Mason’s face was thundercloud-dark as he tried to restrain my shameless hand, but still had to hold me up so I wouldn’t hit the floor.

He looked like he wanted to disappear, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. But even then, he kept one arm around me, steady and sure. The comments roasted him for it—"soft for her," they said. Maybe they weren’t wrong.

"Calm down!"

His voice, even in the video, was rough but weirdly gentle. I could hear the frustration, but also something softer—something he probably didn’t want anyone else to notice.

"Stop touching!"

He sounded desperate now, like he was pleading with a toddler hopped up on sugar. The crowd’s laughter only got louder, and I could almost feel his embarrassment radiating through the screen.

"Are you nuts? How much did you drink?!"

There was a hint of panic in his voice, like he was genuinely worried about me. I remembered flashes—his hand on my back, the warmth of his jacket, the way he tried to shield me from the cameras.

And just like that, my “let me touch” catchphrase went viral.

The phrase was everywhere—on t-shirts, in memes, even scribbled on the bathroom stalls. I was officially a campus legend, for better or worse. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, and I had to mute half my group chats just to get some peace.

"Damn, who is this girl?"

The top comment had over a thousand likes. I cringed, but also couldn’t help laughing. If nothing else, at least I was famous now.

"She did what I’d never dare."

A chorus of agreement followed. People I barely knew messaged me, asking for tips on being bold. If only they knew how terrified I’d been.

"I’ve seen her in person! Gorgeous, sweet voice—never thought she’d be so wild offstage."

Someone from the choir chimed in, and I groaned. My secret was out—I’d never live this down at rehearsal.

"Heh, I don’t buy it. Unless I get to touch too."

The comments were getting out of hand. I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling. At least people thought I was fun.

"Count me in as a fan."

My follower count jumped overnight. I tried not to let it go to my head, but a little validation never hurt anyone.

"But seriously, those two are kinda shippable, aren’t they?"

The shipping wars had begun. I scrolled through fan edits, some sweet, some downright embarrassing. Still, a small part of me liked the idea—me and Mason, together.

Yeah, shipping always ends in heartbreak. Story of my life.

I knew better than to get my hopes up. Real life wasn’t a romance novel. Still, I couldn’t help wondering—what if?

My head throbbed as I tried to remember.

The hangover was brutal—like someone was playing drums inside my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memories to come back, but all I got were blurry flashes and regret.

I felt like I’d done something even worse.

A pit formed in my stomach. There was something I couldn’t quite remember—something that made my heart race and my cheeks burn. I prayed it wasn’t as bad as I feared.

Last night, I’d crammed until my brain melted and dragged my best friend out to a bar.

It had started innocently enough—just a little break from cramming for finals. Jess had tried to talk me out of it, but I was relentless. Sometimes, you just need to blow off steam.

One drink led to another—I got wasted.

The bar lights blurred, music pulsing through my veins. I lost track of time, of how many shots I’d downed. All I knew was that I felt lighter, freer, like nothing could touch me.

From across the room, I spotted Mason.

He was hard to miss—tall, broad-shouldered, with that air of effortless cool. Like, if this was a movie, he’d be the guy leaning against a jukebox in a leather jacket. Even in the dim light, he stood out. My heart did a little flip, and I knew I was in trouble.

"Mason!" I called out.

My voice cut through the noise, louder than I intended. Heads turned, and for a moment, the whole bar seemed to pause. I didn’t care—I wanted him to notice me.

Everyone at his table heard me.

They all looked over, some with smirks, others with raised eyebrows. I could feel their eyes on me, but I was too far gone to care.

"Yo, Mason, who’s this? New little sis?"

A dude in a backwards cap grinned, elbowing Mason. "Bro, you keeping secrets?"

"So cute—why didn’t you introduce her to us?" another one chimed in, making a face. The whole table leaned in, waiting for Mason’s reaction.

My bestie Jess tried to clamp her hand over my mouth. "Harper, shut up, that’s Mason Reed—dude looks scary as hell."

She hissed the words, eyes wide with panic. I shrugged her off, determined to make my move.

"Babe, chill!"

Jess was practically dragging me back, but I dug in my heels. I wasn’t leaving without at least saying hi.

Ignoring her, I plopped right onto Mason’s lap.

The room went dead silent. I could feel every eye on me, the air thick with disbelief. Mason’s lap was surprisingly comfortable, and I grinned up at him, feeling invincible.

Mason’s friends and Jess went dead silent—it was deafening.

You could hear a pin drop. Even the bartender paused mid-shake, eyes wide. The tension was electric, crackling in the air.

Even Mason looked stunned.

His mouth opened, then closed, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. For once, the unflappable Mason Reed was at a loss for words.

The crowd erupted.

Laughter, cheers, a few wolf whistles. Someone banged on the table, shouting, "That’s what I’m talking about!" I basked in the chaos, feeling like a rockstar.

"Yo! Mason, you’re killing it—she just threw herself at you!"

Someone else hooted, and Mason’s ears turned bright red. I’d never seen him so flustered.

"Why aren’t you pushing her off? That’s not like you."

A few of his friends nudged him, eyebrows raised. I caught Mason’s eye, daring him to do something about it.

"Push her off? If it were me, I’d be holding on tight!"

The guys laughed, egging him on. I rolled my eyes, but secretly, I was glad Mason hadn’t shoved me away.

Jess tried to drag me away but failed, looking like she was about to cry.

She tugged at my arm, whispering urgent pleas, but I was rooted to the spot. For once, I was the center of attention, and I wasn’t letting go.

I shouted, "Mason! Let me touch!"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. The whole bar went quiet, the moment hanging in the air like a dare.

Mason’s friends all went quiet, watching me.

Their eyes darted between me and Mason, waiting to see what he’d do. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears.

He grabbed my hand, his face stormy. "Stop moving."

His grip was firm, but not painful. I could see the struggle in his eyes—wanting to push me away, but not quite able to do it.

I was a tomato—bright red and about to pop.

My face was burning, my skin prickling with embarrassment and excitement. I looked up at Mason, trying to read his expression.

"Let me touch, let me touch, what’s the problem?"

I pouted, sticking out my lower lip in a way that always got me what I wanted. The room erupted in laughter again.

"You tell me!"

Mason’s voice was tight, his patience wearing thin. But there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something I couldn’t quite name.

Mason, not the least bit gentle, tried to throw me off, but I clung on tight.

He shifted, trying to shake me loose, but I held on like a barnacle. The crowd cheered, egging us on.

"Mason, come on, what’s wrong with a little touch?"

I pleaded, my voice rising above the noise. I could feel the alcohol making me bold, reckless.

Everyone was stunned, including Mason.

The whole bar seemed to freeze, waiting for his response. I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t crossed a line.

"Damn, Mason, this girl is wild."

Someone whistled, and Mason shot them a death glare. I giggled, feeling invincible.

Mason gritted his teeth. "Sis, you need to calm down."

He said it through clenched teeth, his jaw working overtime. I could tell he was barely holding it together.

"Can’t calm down!"

I shook my head, determined to keep the party going. The crowd roared, loving every second.

I got mad, pouted, and grabbed his wrist.

My fingers wrapped around his pulse point, and I squeezed, trying to get his attention. I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Let me check your pulse."

I leaned in, pressing my fingers to his wrist like I was a doctor. The crowd snickered, but I ignored them.

"Okay, you really are nuts."

Mason shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. I grinned, triumphant.

"Sis, you’ve already gotten handsy—just checking his pulse isn’t enough!"

One of his friends cackled, and I stuck my tongue out at him. The banter made the moment feel lighter, less dangerous.

"Shut up." Mason kicked the guy’s stool.

The guy yelped, nearly toppling over. Mason shot him a glare, daring him to say another word. The room quieted down, everyone waiting to see what would happen next.

He stared at me, eyes cold, trying to figure out what I was up to.

I met his gaze, refusing to back down. There was a challenge in his eyes, but also a flicker of something softer—something just for me.

I listened to his pulse, thought for a moment. "Heartbeat’s racing. You’re in trouble."

I said it loud enough for everyone to hear, grinning like I’d just won the lottery. The crowd erupted again, loving the drama.

Mine.

I winked, letting the implication hang in the air. Mason’s eyes widened, and for a second, I thought he might actually smile.

Try again.

His voice was low, almost a growl. I swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of myself. Was I pushing too far?

"Wrong?" I said, confused. "Let me check again."

I leaned in, pretending to listen for his pulse. The crowd was eating it up, phones out, recording every second.

Mason just stared at me in silence.

His eyes were unreadable, but I could feel the heat radiating off him. My heart pounded, matching the rhythm of his pulse.

His pulse thumped under my fingers. I declared, "You’re right. Just stage fright."

I tried to sound confident, but my voice wobbled. The room erupted in laughter, and I felt my cheeks burn.

"Damn, you’ve got guts, girl—cheers!"

Someone raised a glass in my direction, and the crowd joined in. I grinned, feeling like a queen for a night.

You done?

His arms were strong, steady. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze head-on. There was a challenge in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but rise to it.

I met his glare and grinned, daring him.

I held his stare, refusing to back down. The air between us crackled with energy, the crowd fading into the background.

At school, we had nothing to do with each other.

We were like strangers in the hallway, barely nodding in passing. But everyone knew the truth—there was history there, something simmering beneath the surface.